180 gram exact repro reissue of this absolutely insular, deranged private press masterpiece. Previously reissued by Shadoks (with full color artwork, as intended). JW Farquhar recorded this on 4-track alone in his apartment in 1972 after ending a 10-year marriage. The songs are part of a "rock opera" and are "written as an outcry against the materialistic nature of the woman." The result is something you will never put on a mixtape for your girlfriend. "...it's a fascinating slice of ambitious, primitively lo-fi private press psych with an extreme lonesome/marginalized edge and some great fuzz and F/X. There are points where he gets into a whole schizophrenic exchange between two characters, one of whom talks in a weird fucked-up cartoon monster style, that almost makes you think of James Ferraro's 'Lamborghini Crystal' broadcasts but the rest of the album is just great basement/loner jams with a huge fucking chip on their shoulder, just the way we like 'em." --Kicktokill